Chapter 19
“We’re here at the pumpkin patch,” Ivy said, lowering her sunglasses to glance back at Daisy, who clapped with glee.
Bennett pulled into a parking area delineated by square bales of hay. Here, just an hour inland from the cooler coastline, the sun still slanted its warmth across harvested fields, transforming them into an autumn wonderland.
Daisy broke free the moment Mitch unbuckled her from the car seat.
“I want pumpkins.” She pointed toward the patch filled with pumpkins of every color.
“You can choose one you want, sweetie.” Shelly caught her before she could dart in front of cars. “Remember, we hold hands here.”
Ivy took in the scene spread before them. The Riverside farm had transformed its pumpkin patch into a storybook event. Scarecrows with flannel shirts and floppy hats guarded the area, their faces painted with broad grins.
“Look at that giant one.” Bennett pointed to a display near the entrance where a massive pumpkin rested, surrounded by smaller gourds in shades of orange, creamy white, and mottled green. Even fancy striped pumpkins.
“That huge one wouldn’t fit in our vehicle,” Ivy said. “I bet it would take a forklift to move it. I had no idea they could grow that large.”
Mitch hoisted Daisy onto his shoulders. She gripped his hair with her fingers, craning her neck to see everything at once. Shelly had chosen an orange knit set for Daisy’s first pumpkin patch photos.
They joined the stream of families moving through the entrance. A teenager offered them a wooden wagon with high sides and squeaky wheels.
“For your pumpkins,” the girl said. “We also have a hot coffee and cocoa stand with homemade churros.”
“Thanks, that sounds good,” Mitch said, taking the handle.
People were taking photos beside a vintage red 1940s farm truck filled with pumpkins. Children darted around bales of hay stacked into mazes and forts while parents trailed behind with wagons and cameras.
Daisy wiggled with excitement on Mitch’s shoulders.
He lowered her carefully, keeping hold of her hand. She immediately pulled toward a squat orange pumpkin with a crooked stem.
“I want this one, Mommy!”
“We just got here, baby,” Shelly said. “Let’s look at a few more first.”
But Daisy had already wrapped both arms around it. The pumpkin was nearly as big as she was. She tried to pick it up but fell back and rolled over. She sat up, giggling with hay in her hair.
Ivy pulled out her phone to take photos. “That’s a cute shot.”
The light was excellent, so she snapped more pictures of Daisy straining against the pumpkin, Mitch helping her, and Shelly having a hearty laugh.
Bennett wandered ahead, examining pumpkins and sorting them.
When Daisy saw him doing that, she looked intrigued. She cast aside the first pumpkin and ran after him.
Shelly held up her hands. “What did I just tell her?”
Ivy laughed, but she loved how serious and discriminating Daisy and Bennett looked. Snap. Snap. “Are you grading them on excellence?”
“We’re being thorough.” Bennett stood, brushing dirt from his jeans. “This is important. Not just any old pumpkin will do, because I know you. You want unusual, original ones you can use for artistic inspiration.”
She blew him a kiss and snapped another photo.
Daisy continued to trail Bennett, with Shelly and Mitch in close pursuit. They ambled through the pumpkin patch, with Daisy stopping every so often to pat a new pumpkin. Some she declared too big, others too small, another too bumpy. Her babbling commentary was a sweet soundtrack.
Ivy fell into step beside Shelly while Mitch and Bennett debated the merits of traditional orange versus more exotic varieties.
“She knows what she likes,” Ivy said, watching Daisy reject another perfectly good pumpkin.
“As we all do. It’s incredible how observant they are at this age. We watch what we say now because she’s a little copycat.” Shelly adjusted the straw hat she’d worn against the sun.
Moments later, Daisy’s shriek of delight got their attention. She’d found one she wanted, a medium-sized pumpkin with perfect symmetry and a curled stem. She sat beside it in the dirt, stroking it like it was a pet.
“This one,” Daisy said.
They walked over to inspect the selection. Mitch was listening to Daisy babble on about the pumpkin.
“That’s a good one,” Ivy said, crouching beside her niece. “Very round.”
“Round,” Daisy echoed.
“That’s right,” Ivy said, repeating the word. Her niece’s vocabulary was expanding. Shelly and Mitch took turns reading to her every night.
Bennett approached with several pumpkins in a rainbow of colors on a flatbed cart. Orange, white, and green striped pumpkins.
“I love the assortment,” Ivy said.
After purchasing, they loaded their selections into the wagon. Daisy insisted on walking beside her chosen pumpkin to ensure its safety. The wagon wheels protested the weight as Mitch pulled it toward the farm stand.
The stand was a permanent structure, weathered wood painted barn red. Its awning provided shade, and beneath it stood long tables displaying jars of honey, apple butter, and preserves with handwritten labels. A chalkboard advertised the drink menu: Hot Apple Cider, Hot Cocoa, Fresh Churros.
The aromas hit them first. Cinnamon, cocoa, and baked goods.
They ordered five hot cocoas and several churros. The woman running the stand had kind eyes and an apron dusted with cinnamon. She poured from an industrial dispenser, topping each cup with a swirl of whipped cream.
They found a spot at a picnic table under a massive oak tree, its leaves just starting to turn yellow at the edges.
Ivy sipped her hot cocoa. It was rich and thick, made the old-fashioned way.
Daisy got more whipped cream on her nose than in her mouth. Shelly matched her, and Daisy giggled hysterically about it.
“You two are so silly. And I love it.” Ivy bit into a warm churro, twisted and dusted with cinnamon and sugar.
“Heavenly,” Shelly said, swooning. Daisy climbed into Mitch’s lap, chocolate-smeared and content, examining a tiny gourd she’d somehow acquired.
Mitch whispered something that made Shelly laugh, and her cheeks flushed.
Bennett pressed his knee against Ivy’s beneath the table. “There’s still love there.”
“Here, too.” Ivy took another sip of cocoa, feeling its warmth spread without quite reaching the small knot beneath her ribs. She planned to call Misty later. Just a casual check-in. Nothing weird, like Shelly said.
Though knowing herself, she’d probably make it at least a little weird.
Bennett spoke low enough that only she could hear. “You got quiet. Are you okay?”
“Just thinking.”
“About?”
She glanced at Shelly, who was trying to stop Daisy from waving her churro like a magic wand. The little girl was tapping it to fling sparkly sugar all around them.
Ivy smiled at that. “Daughters. And the things they don’t tell their mothers. Misty in particular.”
“She loves you,” he said. “That part doesn’t change.”
Ivy knew that. She did. But loving someone and telling them everything weren’t the same thing. Maybe that was a lesson she still needed to learn with her daughters. How to let them go and not expect them to tell you everything.
Unless they wanted to, she told herself, crossing her fingers behind her cup of cocoa.